


Crossfade

by arturas



Series: The Working Title EP [3]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games), Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, I mean it started out as crack but now it's a Thing, Musicians, Other, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, only references to at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29262777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arturas/pseuds/arturas
Summary: The remaining members of Revanchist (plus their new lead guitarist) argue over a new band name. Across town, ex-lead gutarist of Revanchist Alek argues with his new agent over his solo career plans.Crackoneshotstart of a whole damn Thing,punkrock band AU, and I don't even know how it happened.
Relationships: Female Jedi Exile/Atton "Jaq" Rand, The Jedi Exile/Atton "Jaq" Rand
Series: The Working Title EP [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155938
Comments: 5
Kudos: 6





	Crossfade

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for bad language and drug references. Also a frankly ridiculous level of crack. Please direct all blame to Clio_Codex.

_I don't care what you think_

_as long as it's about me_

_the best of us can find happiness in misery_

~ "I Don't Care", Fall Out Boy

* * *

Revan sighs, draps himself dramatically over the arm of the sofa, and pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Do we _really_ have to figure this shit out right now?’

‘You want to advertise us as The Artists Previously Known As Revanchist?’

He cracks an eye open to half-assedly glare at Surik. The bassist is leaning on the arm of the loveseat across the room, wearing the usual serious frown she has in business meetings (Surik _hates_ business meetings. Surik also hates it when Revan doesn’t take business meetings seriously. The net result is that she _never_ looks happy at business meetings, unless they’re doling out royalty payments). ‘Worked for Prince, didn’t it?’

‘Yeah, and his lawyers say it won’t work for _us_.’ Her frown deepens. ‘Remind me… why the _fuck_ did you go halves on the IP to the band name with that prick again?’

‘Because he wasn’t always a prick.’

‘That code for he gave great head?’ Rand asks casually, from his comfy spot on the loveseat. ‘Because I heard a few rumours –’

Surik smacks his shoulder. She’s kind of smirking though, the bitch. ‘You’re still on probation. Watch your mouth.’

Revan rolls his eyes. A couple weeks ago he’d have probably thrown something at the replacement guitarist but right now he’s moderately hungover and just wants to be done with this fucking meeting so he can go back to bed. ‘Probation doesn’t count if you’re fucking him, Surik.’

Rand snorts. Surik flushes, a little, and her frown becomes a scowl. ‘It’s one way to keep a guitarist around, isn’t it?’

Revan sits up with a proper growl. ‘You were the one to find the fucking payments. That smarmy fucker was skimming –’

‘I _know_ , Revan, okay?’ She runs her hands through her hair in frustration. ‘I get it. Alek was a prick, you made a mistake trusting him, he was the one to walk off, what-the-fuck _ever_. It’s not getting a new name figured out any faster.’

From his usual spot in the furthest goddamn corner of the room, HK erratically drums his fingers against his leg. Without a kit or a synth machine to fiddle with the man acts like the unholy lovechild of a coke junkie and a vibrator. If he wasn’t such a machine on the drums Revan would be half tempted to flush his Adderall, just to watch the carnage. ‘We have a show in a month. If we don’t have a new name by today, the promoter will simply use Revanchist again, and Alek will take a chunk of the profits from a show he didn’t even attend, let alone perform at,’ HK says.

Fury spikes through the faint nausea of his hangover. ‘That is _not_ happening,’ Revan growls. ‘So, fuck it; we’re not leaving this room until we’ve got a new name. Surik vetoed “The Sith”, I vetoed Rand’s idiocy –’

‘Still don’t see anything wrong with “Atton and the Jets”,’ Atton says conversationally. His grin says he’s only partway joking. Surik’s smirk suggests the sex is good enough to overlook Rand’s arrogance. Well, that or the man really is joking and is covering up one hell of an inferiority complex. Guitarists are a weird bunch like that.

Yeah, so he’s technically a guitarist as well but he’s been lead vocals for years now – he doesn’t count.

‘– and HK suggested freaking “Assassination Nation”, which _nobody else_ voted for, so we’re still at fucking square one,’ he finishes, as if Rand had never spoken at all.

HK’s finger-drumming intensifies. As always, his face remains emotionless – unless there’s a wall of death or one hell of a mosh pit raging, he doesn’t give a shit about much. Probably the Adderall. Maybe just the need to hit things. Drummers are even more fucked up than guitarists. ‘I still fail to see the issue with my proposed name.’

They’ve had this argument already. Revan doesn’t bother with a reply. ‘Does anyone – _except_ Rand – have any other suggestions?’

Rand makes as if to comment but Surik lays a hand on his shoulder and he shuts up. Huh; maybe the idiot _can_ be taught after all. Or at least led around by his dick. He won’t lie, he’s still kind of flabbergasted that Surik went for _Rand_ of all people, but it’s definitely improved her mood since Alek split (and, he begrudgingly admits, the kid can shred – for all his faults, Alek was damn near a virtuoso on the electric guitar and he knows they were fucking lucky to find a skilled replacement that’s besotted enough with Surik to overlook their violent, slightly robotic drummer and Revan’s tendency to overbook their tours).

Then, Surik starts, and looks over to Revan with a small grin. ‘Not a suggestion, but a question.’

Revan raises an eyebrow. ‘Better be good.’

‘Alek’s little side project. You know – the one he was always on about before you two started this thing. He ever trademark that shit?’

‘Doubt it. I did all our legals.’ His second eyebrow rises to join the first. ‘Wait. You’re seriously not suggesting –’

‘Not using it directly.’ Her smile grows downright wicked. ‘More of an… _homage_.’

* * *

Alek pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s got a fucking cunt of a hangover and he really, _really_ doesn’t want to be here, but Karath wanted a meeting and insisted that a phonecall wouldn’t suffice so here he is, at stupid o’clock in the afternoon, waiting in an empty office in the city’s cheapest fucking entertainment law studios.

Trust Revan to blackball him from their regular agent. Petty motherfucker. Doesn’t matter; Karath’s got connections (to both promoters and dealers) and dislikes Revan about as much as Alek does these days, so it's all good. Even if Karath’s stupid fucking genuine Italian leather chair is worth more than the rest of his office combined, _including_ the rent.

(He won’t admit it, but he’s still _really_ fucking cut that Revan would throw him out of the band over a measly few grand in side takings. He was a part of Revanchist from day fucking dot _and_ he wrote most of their biggest hits; so what if he took a little extra from the pot now and then? Coke isn’t cheap and songs don’t write themselves, so what was he meant to do? Write _sober_?)

‘Alek, Alek, Alek,’ Saul Karath says, striding into the room like he owns the place instead of leasing it month-to-month with a half-dozen other sleazeballs. He stops at the edge of his desk and eyes Alek critically. ‘Wow, you look like shit.’

‘At least it’s only a temporary thing for me,’ he says snidely, ignoring the still-healing scars on his jaw. ‘What did you want me here for?’

Saul frowns. ‘You didn’t read the email, did you.’ It’s not a question.

‘It wasn’t sheet music or a love letter; of _course_ not.’

‘Figures.’ Saul’s frown shifts, slightly – he almost looks apprehensive. ‘Well, I’ll give it to you straight – you’re not going to like what I have to tell you.’

Alek snorts. ‘That describes, like, ninety percent of the shit you tell me.’

‘Why do I have you as a client again?’

‘Because I control fifty percent of Revanchist’s IP.’ He makes an exaggerated show of inspecting his fingernails, leaning back in the Staples-brand seat opposite Saul’s own overcompensation. ‘And once I get set up as Malak, I’ll have a hundred percent control over _that_ , and you’ll be sure to get your cut.’

Saul’s expression grows pensive. ‘About that. You, uh… you never registered Malak anywhere, did you? SoundCloud, Spotify, even MySpace –’

‘You read the contracts. No side gigs while we were working Revanchist.’ He frowns at the memory – he and Revan had been so _sure_ back then. That agreement had been to cover Surik and HK, not the two founders… yet he’d been the one caught by it in the end. Goddamn Revan and his fucking hard-on for legal shit. “Covering my ass” _his_ ass. ‘Why?’

Saul chews at the inside of his cheek. ‘Well,’ he says carefully, like Alek is some kind of rabid animal and he’s an anthropomorphic steak (Alek’s educated; he knows five-dollar words, _Revan_ ), ‘you may need to rethink that name.’

When all Alek does is raise an eyebrow, he lays down a flyer on his desk and slides it towards Alek.

There, in forty-point Death Star font (which _he_ found; fuck you, Revan), is a flyer for a show at the fuck-damned Citadel Station, headlined by none other than The Malak Mistake.

* * *

As it turns out, genuine Italian leather breaks glass windows just as effectively as hotel-room television sets. Saul doesn’t post bail for forty-mother-fucking-eight hours, and Alek spends every last one of those hours cursing Revan in every language he knows (one. It’s one. _Fuck you and your multilingual tongue,_ Revan).

He’ll make that cunt pay if it’s the last damn thing he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Updated name and references 25/02, because ironically we now have actual naming conventions for the series and this fic - originally titled "Naming Conventions" - needed to fit.


End file.
